


Knack

by bronwins



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, it's a little one sided except toby totally loves her and is just reeeeeally bad at showing anything, the press corps are jerks, this is pretty much nothing., toby wants to fix cj and cj just wants to frickin vent, work frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:05:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronwins/pseuds/bronwins
Summary: He’s always been able to fix things; has always had a knack for knowing what to say to talk her off the ledge. Not this time.





	Knack

**Author's Note:**

> i wish i was aaron sorkin but i'm not, i swear.

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

“CJ-”

“I really cannot stress, Toby, how goddamned little I want to talk right now.” she, racing through the West Wing, eyes burning like she’s got a fever. He, huffing behind her, jogging a little to keep up. He’s always been able to fix things; has always had a knack for knowing what to say to talk her off the ledge. Not this time.

“If you think he was making fun of you-”

“Of _course_ he was making fun of me - hi, Carol - _of course he was_. I have perfectly functioning ears and eyes.”

Carol, stunned, asks no questions and clicks the lock to the outer door behind them. CJ makes a mental note to buy her a really good Christmas gift this year.

“Chrissake, he’s an idiot,” Toby, winded, collapses on a couch that’s ninety percent manila folders and briefing memos. “A moron. So what if he was making fun of you - he barely merits a functioning cerebellum, let alone a place in the White House press room.” She hates that two-bit reporters can get to her, but Freddy Klein, the _LA Times’_ least favorite son, always manages to hit her right where it hurts.

“CJ’s just a little naive,” he’d said, smiling at some young woman from some paper that looked wide-eyed and had ragged fingernails. “Sometimes you fill in the blanks on your own, but you get used to it. Really, it's the best this administration can do.”

Now, she stands in her office, back to the corner wall, grinding her teeth as Toby tries to think of something to say.

“I’m just _tired_ ,” she feels like she’s swallowed a dinner plate. “Of everyone thinking they can act however they damn please just because they think I’m out of earshot. I’m tired of having to prove myself every twenty minutes around here, not just to every jackass with a notepad, but to the president, and to Leo and Josh - “

Then she stops, because the next words out of her mouth would’ve been: “and to you,” and she’s not sure how well he’d react to that. When she sits beside him, she feels his eyes burning holes in her skin, and knows that he’s read her mind.

“I’m tired of being Washington’s punching bag,” Folders slip to the floor and she ignores them. "I hate being the goddamn weakest link."

“You’re not, CJ.”

She laughs dryly and folds herself onto his shoulder, craning downward, trying to get comfortable. She knows he hates this; this kind of contact that he hasn’t got control over, but he makes the best of it. Squeezes her hand, and smells faintly of cigars and laundry detergent.

"I am, Toby. I _really_ am."

When she feels the rasp of his beard against her hand, it's just surprising enough to make her start. Next, his lips, softer than they look, ghost the outside of her wrist, and she shudders; casts a honey-lashed look over her shoulder. He's watching her with deep, sad eyes, and she realizes that it must hurt him to not know what to say. To not know how to fix.

 _I don't want to be fixed, Toby,_ she wants to scream.  _Why don't you get over here and goddamn love me already_ _?_

Instead, she mutters: "I've got a thing," and removes contact to pick up memos at random.

"Okay." he's already halfway to the door, fingers at the knot of his tie, the air crackling with his anxiety.

"See you later?" A moment passes, before his face crumples into something close to relief.

"Okay." He turns on his heel to leave.

“Hey," she knows this tone; the I've-finally-got-it tone. She wants to roll her eyes, or else kiss him until he chokes. "Just for the record, you don't have to prove yourself to me. Ever.”

He says it softly and sounds the way the wind does when it blows a pile of fallen leaves. She thinks watches him go and thinks of fall, of better times, of that damned knack he has. Waits a moment, then touches her lips and finds that she is smiling. Goes about her day, thinking of his dark sad eyes, and his lips on her skin.


End file.
